


The Crimson Snow

by PhantasmagoricReverie



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blood and Gore, Death, F/M, Graphic Description, Original Character Death(s), Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmagoricReverie/pseuds/PhantasmagoricReverie
Summary: It would have been better to die, in fact, you pray to the Fury to die, to perish swiftly. But some prayers aren’t answered, perhaps Halone hadn’t deigned to listen to your plea. And thus, you suffer.AU where you are one of the Temple Knights.
Relationships: Nidhogg (Final Fantasy XIV)/Reader
Kudos: 7





	The Crimson Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses. This is basically horror porn. In case you skipped over the tags there is gore and death ahead so if that’s not your thing, go back and give this one a pass.

You aren’t sure how you got here, but you’re certain of one thing. The situation does not bode well for you. You, a Temple Knight of the Holy See, amidst the Dravanian Horde. There is no mistaking the hulking black beast before you, emanating rage and madness in equal part. _Nidhogg._

“St…stop it. Don’t come near me!” You know you can do nothing, faced with an entity more akin to a force of nature than a living being. Still, if you give in to your fear, it will all be over for you. So your façade of bravery and strength remains in place, though not as firmly as you would have liked.

The dragon says nothing in return, instead observing you with the gaze a predator gives before toying with its prey. Memory returns slowly. You had dropped your weapon when you had been attacked so you have no way to defend yourself. The armor that you had had is also missing, though you aren’t sure what happened between being attacked and becoming lucid again.

“Don’t… don’t hurt me…” You can’t stand the psychological pressure of being faced with the mad wyrm. Perhaps if you had been well-trained like the other Temple Knights you would be able to withstand it. One of them would be able to fight, even in such dire straits.

“Hurt you?” Nidhogg’s voice rumbles, like a destructive storm. “Nonsense. I’m going to _break_ you.”

Instinct tells you to run and despite the futility of it you try to flee. The dragon easily corners you, rewarding you with a large gash across the chest for your efforts. The blows knocks you back, leaving you winded as your body hits the cold ground, kicking up a flurry of snow. It takes a moment to come back into yourself, but a moment is all it takes for the Great Wyrm to overtake you.

You are grabbed roughly, the clothing on your body being ripped to almost nothing, leaving you exposed before the greatest enemy of Ishgard. The positions of your bodies change and you don’t realize what such change entails. Your mind is focused on other things, you have to escape, somehow—

“Hhhhiiiigghh?!” Your throat no longer produces sound remotely human. It feels like a hot iron has been forced into your body, with all the heat and none of the combustion. You feel the shadow of death loom over you. No longer do you beg for mercy or succor, only a quick death. Halone, any of the Twelve; you pray for deliverance.

It does not come.

Claws rip into your side as the dragon forces you to stay put. Blood gushes forth, having been handled so carelessly. The blood trickles down from below your ribs, to your stomach, dripping below you. The ice below is slick and red, steaming from the heat of your insides. Tears fall down your face and you realize you don’t know when you began crying.

“We’ve only begun, _Temple Knight_.” The scorn in that voice is unmistakable. So is the mounting dread. You finally comprehend what’s happening to you. You are being… _mated_ by the very enemy you swore to vanquish.

“Stop it, please, I’ll do anything!” Your body attempts to accommodate a girth it was never meant to take in. You can feel the area between your legs stretching and tearing. You’re splitting apart. The pain is horrendous and you don’t recognize the cry of agony from your throat as your own. From the inside out, you’re being torn apart. From your lips spill an endless mantra of apologies, but you don’t know why or to whom you’re apologizing to. Your pleas go unheard and unacknowledged.

The pain is dulling your mental faculties. The only thing that exists is the burning, splitting pain inside of you. The Great Wyrm only bores deeper inside you.

If he goes that deep you’ll—!

A sound that no sane and no unbroken person could make escapes your throat. A guttural expression of pain and agony, a howling that leaves your throat raw, even as you taste your own tears.

With some effort, it pushes through internal organs never meant to stimulated, never meant to be pierced. Blood pools in between your thighs, dripping down and mixing with the blood of your external injuries. Fresh blood gushes forth as the tip of wyrm burrows deeper into your guts. You can only groan and scream in agony as you’re fucked in places never meant to be treated as a sexual organ.

The flexibility of your intestinal walls are a bit difficult to break through, but in the face of such force, they are pierced through all to easily. You feel your abdomen grow distended as your organs are pierced through and displaced in a frantic attempt to accommodate the foreign invader. It goes beyond your intestines, rupturing your stomach with the pressure it exerts.

“Ghhooagh—!” Clots of blood flow up your throat and are forced out of your mouth. All of that displaced blood being forced out as you struggle to breathe between the anguish and vomiting blood and bile.

For a moment, you possess a terrifying lucidity. _Why aren’t you dead yet? You should be dead—_ but with such clarity also brings with it acute awareness of your nerve endings crying out in the face of the abuse your body is forced through. As Nidhogg buries himself deeper into you, your mind becomes clouded with the knowledge of your impending death. Despite death being all you want, the only way out of this hell, the life within you struggles and cries out. “Help m—ghhhkk?!” 

Delirious from blood loss, you barely register the moment your heart is pierced. Death is only mere minutes away. You don’t want to die. It hurts. You’re dying. This is what you want. No, you don’t want to die!

Nidhogg releases inside you, causing you to soil yourself not only with blood and the other fluids of your body, but with the seed of the Great Wyrm now as well. The volume of the fluids is too much and the unnatural mixture comes spewing forth from your lips and your nose as well. The tips of your hands and your feet feel cold. You’re losing too much blood, you’re life dripping further and further out of your body. It’s the only thing you can comprehend.

“Nnngh… mmgh….” You can only groan, wondering why you’re still conscious, still alive. The wyrm pulls out of you, the gap between your legs refuses to close. With how terribly your flesh had been rended, it comes as little surprise. As the ticks of your comprehension phase in and out, you lay there, on the ground, surrounded by your own filth. Instinctively, you shiver, though it has nothing to do with the falling snow.

Nidhogg assesses you, his broken prey. Then you can feel it, the tearing sensation. Since when did the dragon grab hold of your two legs? You’re being pulled apart now, in the literal sense. The joints in your hips grate in their sockets as they strain against the pressure, the place between your legs rip even further, causing a new bout of screaming and agony.

You cough, choking on your own blood, writhing even as you vomit again. You gasp for air but it’s not enough. Your body is rended further asunder as your ability to process pain is exceeded. It’s getting colder and the blood pouring from your body as its torn feels like the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. You hallucinate that your own blood is burning you alive. The line between delirium and madness is blurred. 

Your aorta ruptures, bringing forth a new bout of burning blood. You are just a moment away from death. Your organs spill out from inside of you, no longer having anything to support them, forced out through the pressure of your hemorrhage. They steam upon hitting the snow below, already red from your blood. The edges of your sight begin to blur and you can no longer think. There’s only one question you’d like an answer to.

As a Temple Knight, did you do well, until the very end?


End file.
